


Dead in the Water

by Emilybells



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cruise Ship, Gen, Honeymoon, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Serial Killer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilybells/pseuds/Emilybells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock invites himself to Mary and John’s honeymoon. Things go awry when a series of passengers aboard the cruise ship wind up dead, and despite his best efforts, Sherlock has a rather difficult time solving the case when the remaining passengers become paranoid and begin pointing fingers at one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A cruise ship called the Emerald Princess had departed from England just six hours earlier. It was embarking on a two-week-long voyage with a couple pit stops in Spain and France, and was also the honeymoon choice for newlyweds John and Mary Watson. The weather was perfect - warm and sunny with the slightest breeze - and the happy couple was already enjoying every minute of their trip, currently occupying a pair of pool chairs set out around the rear of the ship.

“Suppose we’ll see any dolphins?” Mary was saying, sunglasses pushed to the top of her head. She was sitting cross-legged over a beach towel and looking through a digital camera.

John was lying down with his legs crossed and flipping through a celebrity gossip magazine. “I think there’s a good chance,” he answered. The man was wearing a pair of red swim trunks to match his wife’s bikini.

Mary glanced up at John and frowned. “Hey, I hope you remembered to put on sunscreen over there.”

“‘Course I did.”

“When?”

“Uh… when we first came out here? Maybe an hour ago?” 

“Then it’s about time you reapplied,” the woman decided. She then exchanged the camera for a bottle of sunscreen in her purse and scooted to the edge of her chair. “Alright, flip over. I can’t be seen strutting about with a lobster for a husband.”

John did as he was told without complaint. Once flopped onto his stomach Mary began rubbing the white substance into his back. Suddenly there was the sound of a large brass bell being rung and the couple both lifted their heads. “Suppose that means dinner?” John asked.

“I guess. A tad earlier than I would’ve expected, though. C’mon, John; let’s get dressed and go check out the buffet!”

-x-

“Are you kidding me? You pay all that money to book the spot and then they go and assign your dinner seats?” John scoffed, inspecting the fancy dining table’s name cards distastefully. “At least they had the decency to stick us facing the window.”

“Oh, shush. I’m sure the food is absolutely delightful.” Mary planted a kiss on John’s cheek and then gasped with delight. “Oh, and look! They’ve got a live orchestra!” John started to turn his head to see and Mary’s face fell. “Um. On second thought, actually, maybe it’s best that you didn’t… look…”

But John had already caught sight of what she was referring to. There he was, an add-in sitting in the middle of a string quartet at the opposite end of the dining hall. Playing a concerto along with the professional musicians without a care in the world. As if he had absolutely no idea.

“I’m going to kill that man, I swear I will,” John practically growled. Fists clenched, he began stomping towards said offender, Mary shuffling after him with a worried countenance.

The last chord in the arrangement was released and those seated nearest to the entertainment erupted into applause. Sherlock put down his violin, spotted his friends, and then smiled. “John. Mary. What a lovely coincidence.”

“Wh—no, no, it is most definitely not a coincidence! What the bloody hell are you doing here, Sherlock!”

Sherlock’s face fell again. “Rude. I could ask you the same thing, you know. I’m simply on vacation. Taking some time out of the office. Enjoying the fresh air. How was I supposed to know I’d run into you two, much less that you wouldn’t want me here?”

“No no no no no, now don’t you dare try and pull that act with me, mister,” John fumed. “I am here on my honeymoon—”

“Our,” Mary corrected.

“—Mary and I are here on our honeymoon, which I know that you know, because you helped me purchase the tickets an entire week ago!”

“Of course. You’re right. I’m terribly sorry,” Sherlock apologized. “You should probably inform the others, as well, because I don’t believe that they received the memo.”

John squinted. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone else onboard, of course. You’re right. It’s your Sex Holiday - sorry, honeymoon. How dare they intervene.”

John pinched at the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Sherlock. For the love of… That’s not what I… You know exactly what I mean, so can you please, just for once, once in your entire lifetime at least try to act your age?” There was a very long and rather uncomfortable silence following John’s remark.

“John,” Mary said softly. She placed a loving hand on the man’s upper arm. 

Finally John met Sherlock’s eyes, but the detective immediately looked away and began packing back up his instrument. The hired violinist returned as he was still in the midst of fumbling around with its case and cast him a sort of funny look, to which Sherlock gave a curt nod and started for the door.

“Now - now hold on,” John tried, attempting to cut the consulting detective off. “What is this now? The ‘silent treatment’?”

“You made it perfectly clear that I’m not welcome here,” Sherlock began flatly, “and I have decided to respect your wishes. Consider it a belated wedding gift, if you will. We can’t possibly be more than, what, seven hours out? Therefore if I am to jump off the ship almost immediately, I should have a fair shot at making it back to shore before midnight by means of a stolen lifeboat. Without one I’m afraid it might take quite a bit longer, especially considering my limbs are bound to give out after two, three hours of freestyle swimming. Nonetheless still very possible, albeit a rather daunting challenge.”

Mary glanced out at the sea surrounding them as if inspecting it. “I’d reconsider if I were you,” she concluded. “Looks a tad cold.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Absolutely freezing. I’d estimate about fifteen celsius this time of year. Perhaps I ought to first remove my shoes, eliminate some of the drag? Could shave off a couple minutes at best… Actually, I might as well take unnecessary layers out of the equation as well. Won’t help with the temperature, I’m afraid, but I’ll nearly double my odds of making it all the way back to land without them.” Sherlock started to remove his scarf and handed it to Mary. “You’ll be a dear and hold onto these for me, won’t you?”

“Fine!” John exclaimed, throwing his arms out to his sides in exasperation. “You can crash mine and Mary’s honeymoon! I don’t give a rat’s arse! You have my bloody permission, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Sherlock smirked, made a pinch at John’s nose (much to his annoyance), wiggled it around some and then patted the side of his face lightly. “Knew you’d come around,” he beamed.

“Jerk,” John spat back, pushing his cocky friend’s hand away.

“Oh! Sunset!” Mary suddenly let out. The two boys whipped their heads around at her. Shoving the accessory back into Sherlock’s hands, she pushed through them both. “Quick, John! Grab the camera! I want to get the shot!” John knew exactly what his wife was referring to and hurried after her, Sherlock out of the loop but keeping up nonetheless.

The woman didn’t stop running until she had reached the Emerald Princess’ bow, at which point she positioned herself at its furthermost point. Sunset had actually begun some time earlier, but only now did the sky begin turning a brilliant pink and orange. John handed their digital camera off to Sherlock and swooped in behind Mary. Mary extended her arms out to the side as if they were wings and John wrapped around the girl’s waist, looking forward from over her shoulder. Sherlock was still not entirely sure what was going on and why it mattered so much, but he took one for the team and snapped a couple pictures until the newlyweds dropped the pose and came bounding over to see the result.

“Did you get it?” Mary asked excitedly despite already starting to look herself.

“Yes, I believe so. Whatever ‘it’ is.”

John frowned at Sherlock. “What? The picture?” Sherlock didn’t answer, and John looked at him with even more judgement than before. “C’mon, tell me you’ve at least heard of Titanic.”

Sherlock blinked. “Of course I have. RMS Titanic; British passenger liner that sank in the North Atlantic Ocean in 1912 after colliding with an iceberg during her maiden voyage from Southampton to New York City. Over fifteen hundred casualties. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“The movie, Sherlock,” John sighed. “I was, of course, referring to the movie Titanic.” There was a brief pause before he went on: “You know, DiCaprio and Winslet? That Celine Dion song? No? Not ringing any bells?” The man seemed almost hurt by Sherlock’s lack of recognition to this. He looked to his wife helplessly. “Mary. Sherlock hasn’t seen Titanic.”

“And he won’t see it until all three of us have made it safely back home, you hear? I won’t be having any jinxes on this cruise. Not on my honeymoon.” Mary took John’s hand in her own and showed him the camera. “What do you think? Cover photo?”

-x-

“Oh come on, Sherlock,” John sighed. “Why do you have on so many layers? Aren’t you getting a bit warm?”

It was the second day of their journey. Sherlock was perched on the edge of the pool, studying other vacationers with a fascination that led mothers to keep their children close. He was wearing his usual suit, heavy coat, and scarf, and John of course was in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks.

“Mm, no, I’m good,” Sherlock said. John waded over, slicked back his wet hair, and rested his elbows on the floor near Sherlock’s feet. The detective’s face turned a bit pink.

“Liar,” John scolded. “I can see you sweating.”

Sherlock huffed and popped up the collar of his jacket, letting it shield him from the sun and unwanted gazes. “Don’t you have approximately fifty thousand gallons of chlorine and baby-piss to frolick in?”

John scoffed and flung a bit of water at him. “You’re the one who invited yourself onto this cruise, so you might as well have some fun while you’re here.”

“A giant lukewarm communal bath is fun?” Sherlock asked.

“Do you legitimately not understand the appeal of a pool, or are you mocking me?”

“Both,” Sherlock said. “We’re in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by water. On a boat, meant to keep us out of the water. Which has a trench full of water in the center of the deck. All so these idiots can sit in four feet of the stuff and say they swam in the ocean without ever actually being in the ocean. Why go through all the trouble? Why not just swim in the damn ocean?”

“I dunno, sharks?” John said.

“Sharks don’t ever actually attack people, John,” Sherlock said. “You’re much more likely to be harmed by an innocent little jellyfish whose squishy head you heartlessly kick in.”

“Which can only be considered self-defense, of course,” Mary agreed as she approached in her red bikini. She dropped a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead and then dove into the pool. The small tidal wave she made splashed John right in the face. She came up and shook her head like a dog, getting her husband in the eyes one more time for good measure. “Sorry, why are we talking about jellyfish again?”

John squinted at her through the pain of pool chemicals in his eyes. “They’re apparently very misunderstood creatures.”

Suddenly a scream rang out from somewhere near the ship’s edge and everyone on the deck lifted their heads towards the noise. A small crowd started to form around the railing, all of them staring down at the water. Sherlock jumped up and made a beeline for the mob, leaving John and Mary still trying to flop their way out of the pool. They each grabbed their beach towels as shields against the wind and by the time they made it to where all the commotion was, the crowd was too large, everyone elbowing and shoving to get a look over the railing.

"How did she fall in?" some of the passengers called out to no one in particular.

"Where are the lifeguards?"

"Isn’t someone going to help her!"

"Do you think she jumped?!"

Without saying anything John passed his towel off to Mary and ducked into the mob. He squeezed his way to the railing and came up again for air right beside Sherlock. John peered over the side of the Emerald Princess and saw what was attracting so much attention—a woman’s body bobbing face down in the waves.

"Oh good, there you are," Sherlock muttered. Much to John’s surprise, the detective began undressing himself. A scarf, coat, and pair of shoes were shoved into John’s arms in a heap. "Hang onto these, will you?"

John blinked at him stupidly. “Wh-what are you doing?” he stammered, already fearing he knew the answer.

"Looks like I’m going for a swim after all."

"Sherlock! This is insane!”

But without enough time (or free hands) to stop him, John watched helplessly as Sherlock climbed on top of the ship’s railing and jumped into the ocean below, feet first and hands at his sides. John called out his friend’s name again, but the word was masked by shouts and gasps from the peanut gallery. After chucking Sherlock’s articles of clothing as far away from the edge of the ship as he could, John began frantically looking for a way to haul Sherlock back up. Finding the gawking passengers less than useful, John whirled around only to bump into Mary, who was carrying a long coil of rope. “Looking for this?” she asked, and smiled weakly.

John thanked her with a kiss and fought his way back to the front of the crowd. He tied a huge knot on one end of the rope and threw it overboard to Sherlock. “Grab the rope!” he yelled. “We’ll hoist you up!”

“Yes, I gathered that was the plan,” Sherlock yelled back. He slung the unmoving woman over his shoulder and clung to the rope, using the knot John tied as a foothold. He sent John a thumbs up, and the doctor and his wife pulled. Sherlock barely even budged.

“Oh, fuck me,” Mary sighed.

John turned to glare at the other passengers standing on the sidelines staring at him. “Well, are you going to help us or not?” the doctor barked, using his soldier voice.

Thankfully a handful of the more lively onlookers gathered around and took hold of the rope. Under John’s direction, they all heaved together, and within a few minutes Sherlock was able to climb back over the safety rail and lie the woman on the deck. John immediately dropped to his knees and began attempting to resuscitate the woman as everyone else hovered around him with anxious looks.

“John,” Sherlock said. He tried in vain to unstick his shirt from his chest and smooth his soaked hair back out of the way of his eyes. Mary silently draped a towel around his shoulders and began drying him off as much as she could. “John,” Sherlock tried again, louder. John ignored him and pressed his mouth to the woman’s, forcing air into her lungs. “For God’s sake, John, will you stop molesting the body?” Sherlock grabbed John by the arm and yanked him backwards. “She’s dead. She was gone before she even hit the water.”

John looked almost determined to not believe Sherlock at first, but upon further analysis it became apparent that this was the case. John leaned away from the body now. He hesitated before meeting Sherlock’s eyes. “Then that would mean that the killer…”

“Is still on board,” Mary finished.

Sherlock nodded grimly.


	2. Chapter 2

They both found it odd, doing their investigation thing with so many spectators who were not being held back by police lines, but nobody was prepared for what happened next. Confirmation of the dead body had rippled through the crowd and was quickly replaced by a series of frantic screams and wailing. Bewildered by the chaos, John stood up and pulled Mary closer to himself. “N-No, stop that!” Sherlock said with a raised voice. “Everyone just… stay calm! Whatever you do, there is absolutely no need to panic!” He was, of course, entirely ignored by those panicking.

Sherlock paced back and forth a couple steps before shoving his way through the worked up mob. Once freed from the mass of people, he retrieved his dry clothes, slipped on his shoes, tucked his coat and scarf under one arm, and darted away from the crime scene.

"Where the hell are you off to now?" John demanded, chasing after him with Mary in tow.

"Well, I figure someone ought to take charge of this mess, and if it clearly isn’t going to be me…” Without any further explanation, Sherlock led the married couple through the ship’s interior, and stopped them just outside of the bridge. He pulled back a wet sleeve and knocked loudly on the white door in front of them.

Almost immediately, the door swung open to reveal a young man wearing a white and navy uniform. “We need to speak with the captain,” Sherlock explained, before the man even had time to ask.

He squinted at Sherlock. “Only cruise line staff are allowed entry beyond this point. But I’d be happy to take a message, if you’d be so kind as to leave—”

"Now see here," John interrupted, squeezing in front of Sherlock and getting up in the other man’s face. "There’s kind of a big public disturbance going on out there that is in desperate need of sorting out. So the way I see it, you can either stand there and not let us in, in which case you have no right to complain when the lawsuits start filing in, or you can take your STUPID FISHER PRICE I WANNA BE A SAILOR WHEN I GROW UP COSTUME AND STAND ASIDE.”

Mary and Sherlock exchanged surprised and slightly aroused looks. There was a chuckle from inside. “Oh, let them in, Darren!” another voice said.

The man who was apparently called Darren stepped out of the doorway, looking far from pleased. Sherlock, Mary, and John walked onto the bridge. The little room was lined with glass on one wall, under which sat a control panel with many buttons and levers and joysticks and a wheel. There were five other gentlemen in uniform, one of whom was wearing a rather silly hat and had a thick, wiry beard.

"Now what can I ding-dong-diddly-do for you folks?" the most decked out man of the bunch asked. "No, wait, let me guess: you fell into the pool and need a new pair of pants that are slightly less soaked?"

Sherlock pursed his lips together into a tense smile. “It’s seawater.”

"Oh? Stood too close to the edge of the Princess then, did we? Now that is embarrassing.”

"I jumped,” the consulting detective clarified. “I jumped to retrieve the dead body of a young woman.”

The captain’s face fell. “Oh. I don’t suppose that’s much of a laughing matter then, is it?”

"No," agreed John. "No, it really isn’t."

The ship’s captain sighed and rubbed at his wrinkled forehead. “That’s a real shame. But what can you do? A lady wants to jump, she’s gonna jump and there ain’t always going to be a hero just standing around to stop her.”

"But she didn’t jump," Mary pointed out. "She was already dead before going over. Poisoned. I should think that changes things."

"Well, sure it would, assuming I believed it. But hard as they are to accept, things like this happen from time to time and there’s no sense in trying to make up excuses and explanations for it." The older man pulled a radio down from where it had been hanging by a cord and held it close to his mouth, pushing down a button to turn on the ship’s intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just been informed of a minor disturbance on board. There is no need to be alarmed. The situation is being handled and we apologize for any inconveniences. Thank you and we hope you continue to enjoy your voyage!" The captain let go of the radio once he had finished, and it sprung back up into the air. "Now where did you say the body was again?" he asked, addressing Sherlock again.

"The pool deck," Sherlock said softly.

"Minor disturbance?" John repeated. "There is corpse on your boat!”

“Ship. There is a corpse on my ship, and I stated just moments ago, that situation is being dealt with accordingly. Now you two - be a couple of dears and bring the bloody thing down to the morgue, would you?” Two of the other men in uniform nodded and left the room.

"Morgue?" echoed Mary. "On a pleasure cruise?"

"Not entirely uncommon for cruise lines," Sherlock explained coolly. "Elderly passengers tend to experience heart failure overseas far more often than companies care to admit."

"Is no one going to talk about the fact that she was undoubtedly murdered!" shouted John.

"Well, we were talking about that, but clearly some of us didn’t want to hear of it.” Sherlock cast a judgemental glare in the commander’s direction.

The captain frowned. “Are you really still going on about that? It’s ridiculous! Absolutely inconceivable! Someone wouldn’t poison someone else on the Emerald Princess any more than they would at Disneyland. Why go through all the trouble and expenses?”

"But she had been poisoned. I don’t know what sort of barely competent medical staff you have around here but if you’d just have them look into the matter you’d see that I’m right. Hemlock would be my initial guess, if you’re in desperate need of a place to start. But no, you’re right - it’s absolutely preposterous. As you said, why should anyone want to do something like this while on vacation? The victim clearly poisoned herself beforehand. Probably wanted to take the sting out of hitting the water. How dare I jump to conclusions? Obviously that’s a much more suitable explanation than murder."

"You really think so?"

"NO, NOT REALLY!"

-x-

"Well that was a bust," John sighed, nicking a bottle of alcohol and a couple of glasses from an unlocked cupboard on their way past. “Want some?” he offered.

Mary pursed her lips. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you aren’t intentionally taunting me with that.”

“Pregnant. Right.” Feeling sheepish, John once again put the objects in their place. They made their way back to the dining hall, which was now mostly abandoned, save a few families with children who were chatting it up. The three of them relocated to one of the rounded tables. Despite it not being quite lunchtime yet, the buffet was filled to the brim with various fruits, crisps, and beverages.

"So what now?" Mary yawned, leaning forward over the table and resting her chin in her arms.

Sherlock smirked. “Isn’t it obvious? We catch ourselves another murderer.”

"This would happen on my honeymoon," John sighed. "Why does this always happen when you’re in the vicinity?"

"I would’ve assumed it was because you’re the one who chose the Emerald Princess.”

John narrowed his eyes at the detective. “Don’t.”

"Sorry. Never could resist a good jest."

"Okay, here’s the plan!" Mary exclaimed suddenly and slammed her fist down on the table, making the two boys jump. "The captain won’t take this seriously until we have proof of foul play, so Sherlock, you can start by figuring out how to prove that the dead chick really was poisoned. John, you try and get your hands on some sort of documentation of everyone on board, staff and passengers alike. That way we’ll at least have a general idea of who all our suspects are."

"And what about you?"

"I’ll look into who our victim was and see if I can figure out why she was offed. We can meet back here and discuss our findings over dinner. Alright gang, let’s split up!"

John raised an eyebrow. “Split up? What is this, Scooby Doo?”

"Well, you two do remind me a little of Shaggy and Scoob," Mary teased.

“Pardon?” Sherlock asked, eyes narrowed.

“Just a joke, dear,” Mary said, patting the detective’s arm.

“And a terribly outdated one at that,” John agreed, smiling.

Sherlock glared at Mary long enough for her to become slightly uncomfortable. She had a higher tolerance for Sherlock’s looks than most people did. “Which one of us is represented by the dog?”

-x-

Mary was the last one back that evening. She’d spent the past few hours piecing together all she could about their victim from other passengers and, to be perfectly honest, was quite proud of her findings. “Madison Taylor,” Mary began, pulling up a seat for herself and squeezing in between Sherlock and John (despite the vast majority of the round table being already available to her).

"She doesn’t appear to have come with anyone, but made some friends on the first day. Namely, the Took family and that elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Bisson. Madison worked at a daycare before coming into some money after the death of her half brother, which was what prompted the vacation. Only other things people seemed to know about her were that she was quite fond of the pool deck and talked quite a bit about her two children, both of which attend university. Oh, and not too long before she got offed, Madison was carrying around this. I don’t know if you can make anything out of it, but just in case…”

Mary placed a worn out copy of Pride and Prejudice on the table. Sherlock took the object and turned it in his hands for a moment thoughtfully before setting it down again. “So how did things go for you boys?” Mary went on, helping herself to John’s plate of food. John scooted his chair over as to give his wife more room.

“Definitely poisoning,” Sherlock said. “I took a closer look at the body, and she had been vomiting significantly before her death. Annoying, because there probably won’t be much left to examine in her stomach when someone gets around to an autopsy…” Sherlock sighed and slumped melodramatically against the table. “No idea how to convince the captain, as I have a feeling he’ll just imply she indulged a bit too much at the bar or something. I still say hemlock. Simple to find if you know where to look, and several parts of it could easily be chopped up and slipped into her food and mistaken for seasoning. I’m guessing she started feeling terribly ill, rushed to the side of the ship to vomit, and didn’t dare return to her room for fear of getting sick again before she made it back. If she passed out or the paralysis or seizures kicked in, she could have fallen over the rail or rolled under it when the ship rocked.”

Mary nodded and the two of them looked to John expectantly. Realizing they were both staring at him, John began fumbling around with his jacket pocket. “Oh! Right, um…” The man pulled out a folded wad of paper, opened it up, and reached over the table to set it down on top of the book Mary had brought. “Wasn’t easy to get my hands on, but this is a copy of the passenger list. They didn’t have anything like that for the cruise staff, but I penciled in as many names and their respective job titles as I could find out. Which… probably isn’t all that impressive, considering there are one hell of a lot of them. Apparently a ship such as this one can hold around… Oh, I think the lady said like, close to 2,000 passengers, plus with nearly half that many crew members. And I’m told that’s considerably small compared to a lot of other cruise lines.”

Mrs. Watson began flipping through the list of names, all scrunched together in an unbelievably tiny font. “You’re right,” she sighed. “This is hardly going to help us narrow down suspects.”

“It’s surprising we found the body at all,” John went on. “This boat is freaking enormous - two pools, four bars, a dining hall with two smaller eating areas, a theater, a wedding chapel, plus the multitude of rooms, cabins with and without their own private balconies…”

“Yes, dear, I remember reading the passenger services list when we were picking out a cruise,” Mary patted John’s arm.

“I’m just saying, there are a lot of places someone could’ve gotten killed and we wouldn’t even know about it.”

Sherlock smirked. “Spent some time lost and wandering around the same couple halls in circles, did you?”

“I hardly see how that’s relevant to the case,” John frowned.

Sherlock started to say something witty back when he was immediately distracted by a some sort of commotion beginning to take place several tables away. An older gentleman was lying face-down over the table, as if having suddenly passed out.

“What’s the matter with him?” people were demanding. “Has he had too much to drink? Is he having a heart attack?”

“He’s been poisoned!” a shrill voice called out. “They all have! Look at them!”

Mary, John, and Sherlock all jumped up from their seats and scanned their eyes across the dining room. Sure enough, a handful of individuals had also collapsed at their own tables. The quartet had stopped playing halfway through a piece and began packing up their instruments and sheet music as quickly as they could manage. As the wave of panic spread those who knew the eight unconscious people clung to their loved ones with various looks of distress and worry, while everyone else mostly either fled from the room, crashing into one another like bumper cars, or stood around in the way gasping and shrieking.

Mary pressed a hand over her mouth, eyeing the plate she and John had eaten out of. “Oh my god.”

“It’s the red wine,” Sherlock assured her. He paused suddenly, eyebrows furrowed. “Well. Probably.”

“Probably?!”

“It’s one common denominator. Look, rather than stand around and wide-eyed at the prospect, why don’t you make yourself useful and pour out what’s left of the wine just in case, mm?”

Pursing her lips together, Mary hurried over to the buffet table to do so just as another figure entered the room through a door just beside that of the kitchen’s. The vast majority of the room had been vacated by that point, save the golden trio and several relations to the deceased, all of which were hovering about the dining hall in stunned silenced. The ship’s captain paused in the doorway with folded arms. “Now what the gosh-darn-diddly-dang-it is goin’ on in here?” he demanded.

Sherlock swooped over in an almost impressive few amount of steps, wincing at the seaman’s obnoxious southern twang. “Oh, nothing too exciting,” he replied flatly. “Just your typical pleasure cruise killing spree. Perfectly fine for business regulations.”

The captain narrowed his eyes. “Feeling pretty clever now, aren’t you, sailor?”

"As a matter of fact, yes I am. Thank you for noticing."

"Ladies. Please." John stepped in between the two gentlemen with a stern look. "This is serious." He looked to the captain now. "A handful of your paying guests have just had their lives abruptly halted, and unless you can figure out who’s responsible and stop them, their blood is on your hands.”

"I don’t remember there being any accounts of blood present," the captain sneered. "But never mind that, what the frackity-frick do you think you’re doing with all those, little miss!” The man gestured frantically towards Mary, who was in the midst of slipping past the group into the kitchen area, her arms filled with at least seven bottles of red wine. John offered out his own arms and she dropped several of them into his possession.

"I was about to go empty these out in a sink," Mary explained coolly.

"But why?!"

"Oh, I don’t know, maybe because one or all of them has been poisoned? Doesn’t that sound like a convincing enough reason to you?”

"Now listen here!" the captain fumed. "Just who do you folks think you are, bargin’ onto my ship and taking initiative like you owned the damned thing?"

"Someone had to," Sherlock muttered.

"Listen, sonny, I don’t think think you appreciate everything I do to make sure this trip runs smoothly—"

"We don’t."

"—and trust me when I say I sure as heck ain’t havin’ it ruined by some delusional murderer either, believe me. But until we make port there ain’t nothing to be done about it but take care of these things as they come, you hear?"

"So do nothing?" John frowned. "That’s seriously what you’re suggesting is the best course of action?"

"Let the police do their job when they get here. In the meantime, I’m gonna do mine, and I suggest you meddling youngsters do the same!" The captain then stomped out of the room just as he’d come, demanding that the area be sealed off and cleaned up as quickly as possible.

John met Sherlock’s eyes, mirroring his friend’s look of astonishment. “Zoinks,” John breathed just before following his wife into the kitchen to dispose of the poisoned drink. Sherlock hesitated for a moment longer and then exited the dining area from the opposite end of the room, back towards the pool deck.


	3. Chapter 3

What Sherlock walked into next was, in his opinion, even worse than the very recent massacre. A mob had gathered on the deck just outside of the dining hall composed of faces that had fled the scene as well as quite a few who had presumably come running as soon as they heard the screams. They seemed to be in the the midst of a heated debate over the matter at hand.

“We’re not safe here!” a woman was shouting. “Whatever monster did this could still be anywhere on the ship! Who’s to say we’re not next?”

“Who’s to say he’s one of us?” another added.

“We ought to get back to shore immediately!”

A man nearly twice this third woman’s size elbowed his way in front of the female passenger. “I say we find the bastard who did this and throw ‘im overboard!” he bellowed. Several other voices agreed with this motion.

“Everyone, please, shut up!” Sherlock interjected, pushing his way into the center of the crowd with his arms extended. “I work with the Scotland Yard. If everyone cooperates I should have little difficulty finding the culprit. That being said, I’m going to need to all to remain calm and—”

“Hey, who put you in charge?” the enormous man shot back.

“He says he’s with the police though,” another fellow chimed in. He had a pair of square-rimmed glasses on and looked burnt to a crisp, his face and exposed arms a bright red. “Shouldn’t we maybe stick with him? Might be safer.”

“We don’t even know if he’s telling the truth,” disagreed the first man. He easily towered over the both of them, making Sherlock uneasy. “I don’t see no fancy badge,” he went on, jabbing the detective square in his chest.

“I’m a… a private investigator, if you will,” Sherlock stammered. “I don’t typically carry a badge.”

“Let’s take a vote,” one of the women from before piped up. “Those in favor of doin’ what the man says—”

“Can it, lady! This ain’t no democracy! It’s every man for himself!”

“Hey! You watch the way you talk to women!”

There was a shriek from someone in the crowd when one gentleman lunged forward and shoved another. This was immediately followed by a series of shouting that all blended together like white noise, loud and indistinguishable. It was beginning to make Sherlock’s head throb, but the man jumped into the fray regardless, hoping to push the three or four men who had gotten involved in the physical dispute apart. Instead he was hit in the face by not one, but two opposing fits and knocked backwards, tripping over someone on his way down and sending a portion of the mob to the ground with him as if they were dominos.

Sherlock was only just starting to collect himself once more when the largest man, the one who had previously given him trouble, picked up a nearby pool chair and brought it down upon the red-faced gentleman. Upon impact of the blunt object his glasses snapped and he hit the pool deck with a loud thud. A hush fell over the group and they looked on in awe and fear. A little pool of blood trickled out from the back of the guy’s head. Several gasps followed.

“He’s dead!” a horrified cry rang out. “You killed him!”

The noises started up again, this time a blend of phrases such as “he probably murdered all those poor folks inside, too,” and “get him!”

Despite his protests, the large man was ganged up on as Sherlock stood a little ways away and looked on helplessly. The consulting detective finally fought his way through the mosh pit only to find the man already beaten to a pulp and lying broken on the wooden deck. He wasn’t dead, but only just. The people let out more distressed wails.

“I can’t do this,” Sherlock muttered aloud, eyes wide. He slipped back through the crowd unnoticed and cut into the dining hall. It had been entirely cleaned out now, bodies included. Sherlock then poked his head into the kitchen only to find that it, too, was abandoned. Making a face, he ducked out and, having run out of other options, made a beeline for the captain’s deck.

He’d only just gotten into the hallway when Sherlock ran into John and Mary again. “Oh, there you are,” he breathed.

Mary pointed at Sherlock with a concerned look about her. “Sherlock, your face… Are you alright?”

Sherlock touched the bottom of his nose with his fingertips. It felt sticky and smelled of blood. “I’m fine,” the detective concluded rather quickly, wiping clean the injured area with the back of his sleeve. “I’m fine. Fine. Fine.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “Say it once more and maybe I’ll believe you.”

“I’m fine, Mary. The rest of the Emerald Princess, however, is most definitely not fine.”

“What happened?” asked John, almost afraid to learn the answer.

“Why don’t you ask the newest addition to the deceased passenger list and the brute who ended him.”

Mary slapped a hand of her mouth. “Wh-Someone else is dead?” John gaped. “Wait, does that mean you saw who did it?”

“Me and thirty other bystanders.”

“What did you… do with the guy?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Me? Nothing. But the others didn’t hesitate to break nearly every bone in his sorry body. The cruise line staff, of course, couldn’t be bothered to intervene and re-establish order. I highly recommend you both file a complaint immediately upon return home. Or at least give the Emerald Princess a bad Yelp review.”

“Is… that what happened to your face?”

Sherlock didn’t answer.

“Okay,” Mary tried again, “but what about this guy? Do you think he’s the one we were looking for?”

“Nah. He’s an animal - all brawn, no brains. Our original murderer wouldn’t be so obvious.”

“That means we could probably expect more deaths to come,” Mary realized.

The consulting detective wrinkled his nose with disgust. “Yes. Good luck telling ‘who dunnit’, however. We’ve quite a lively pool of suspects.”

John folded his arms and let out an exasperated sigh. “So let me get this straight: a total of nine, no, ten corpses are now on this boat. We’re in an enclosed space with our mystery killer, our incompetent captain refuses to get involved, change course, or do anything else responsible and rational… Oh, and the surviving passengers are mostly hostile. Have I missed anything?”

His wife shrugged. “I think that about sums up the predicament. So what then?”

“Sherlock hesitated for some time before answering this question. “This changes little in terms of the investigation, except that we ought to be more careful now. After what we witnessed back there, I believe it’s safe to assume that neither poor Madison Taylor nor any of the other eight victims were specifically targeted. That is, the murders were planned out, yet random. If the killer isn’t committing them for the sake of off-ing a specific someone or, in this case, someones, then he’s doing it because…?” The detective looked from Mary to John expectantly.

“Because… he’s a serial murderer?” John offered.

“Well yes, obviously. Killing many people in succession by definition makes someone a serial murderer. I meant, of course, what his motives? What is he hoping to accomplish by pulling something like this off?”

Mary bit at her lip thoughtfully. “He’s… trying to send a message? Or he wants a reaction.”

“A reaction! Yes!” Sherlock almost looked proud, although neither of the others knew quite what he was getting at just yet. “Do elaborate.”

“But what he could be hoping to get out of doing such a horrid thing, I haven’t the slightest,” Mary admitted.

“Wait, what if it’s because the killer actually wants the Emerald Princess to turn back?” suggested John. “I mean, it’s a bit of a stretch, but… but I don’t see how else killing everyone onboard would help him. Assuming he could get away with it, can he even operate a ship this size? It’s fairly big. And anyone would be suspicious upon finding him pulling into a dock like that. So… the simple answer would be that our killer wants the ship to turn around. I think.”

“They could always use a lifeboat if it came down to that,” Mary pointed out.

“Not bad,” Sherlock commented, taking charge of the conversation again. “I suspect that whoever is responsible for this is already on the run. They figured they were safe out at sea, but they can’t return to Britain without being back at square one. So you’re a man on the run, assumedly a man, that is, temporarily seeking refuge aboard a cruise ship. You need to get out somewhere - anywhere - but attempting to steal a lifeboat and get away unnoticed is too risky. So what do you do?”

“You… give the captain a reason to change course, but not turn back around, then?”

“But it isn’t foolproof,” Mary argued. “How do you know the captain will even get the memo and won’t just bring you back home? Ours didn’t even do a damned thing!”

Sherlock nodded grimly. “And therein lies our killer’s problem. Unforeseeable by him, the ship’s captain was seemingly incapable of handling the situation appropriately, even going as far as denying a crime had been committed in the first place. So the killer had to prove a point.”

“Hence the other eight more obvious deaths…”

“Well, I still say it’s all more trouble than it’s worth. And suppose your theory is right. It still doesn’t get us any closer to catching the guy.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Perhaps not, but if I am right and those are the killer’s motives, do I get to be Velma?”

“You arse!” Mary scoffed, slapping Sherlock’s upper arm with the back of her hand. “Just ‘cause you think you’re the smart one doesn’t make you Velma.”

John nodded seriously. “Yeah! If anyone’s Velma, she is.”

Mary pursed her lips together knowingly. “Wrong again,” she purred.

“Sorry?”

“If anything I’d be Fred, the confident and, if I do say so myself, dashingly handsome leader of our mystery gang. That being said, I say we get back out there catch ourselves a bad man in a mask!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest the notion, but John shook his head with a slight smile, indicating not to bother. “Very well,” the detective exhaled. “I can be Shaggy if that’s what it comes down to.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’m serious!”

“I’m sensing a bit of aggravation in that tone. Does someone need a Scooby Snack?”

“I swear to god, John!”

-x-

“Just short of 3,000 people on board and our killer could be virtually any one of them…” Sherlock leaned forward across a bar’s countertop, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully as he stared forward. “So where does one start looking, then?”

“You’re doing it again,” John mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“Talking about the case aloud to yourself,” Mary informed him.

The detective shifted his eyes towards the others somewhat. “It wouldn’t hurt for the both of you to listen in, you know. Although my questions are generally rhetorical, most any speculations would be welcomed right now, with as little as we have to go off of.”

“Hey - you’re the private eye from earlier, ain’t that right?” a fourth voice bellowed from a few feet behind the group. Sherlock spun his barstool somewhat to glance at the newcomer; there were six of them, two of which he definitely recognized from the brawl earlier, and the others may or may not’ve been present as well. The one that was speaking had his dark hair greased back and was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a pair of sunglasses clipped to its collar. The remaining five ranged from men close to Sherlock’s age to around fifty, save one gentleman who was thin and wrinkled, with wiry white hair.

“Who’s asking?” Sherlock calmly requested.

“I am. Folks ‘ave been talkin’, and there seems to be a consensus that you were the one who pulled a dead woman out of the water this morning.”

“Your point being…?”

“Witness ‘ave also claimed theys saw you ‘n yer pals snoopin’ around the crime scene after the little incident in the dining hall a couple hours ago. What do you have to say for yerself, inspector?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man. He was a few inches shorter than Sherlock, but while seated he had to lift his chin to meet the man’s accusatory gaze. “I don’t know what you and your acquaintances here expect me to share about these eyewitness accounts,” Sherlock replied in a silky, unchanging tone. “I was there, and I did retrieve the dead woman’s body. Is there any particularly reason why you are approaching me about these events?”

The bloke wrinkled his nose. “Quit beating around the bush and admit that you know something about what’s going on!” another of the men demanded. He was on the receiving end of a warning glance from the first man, but went on regardless: “We have every right to know exactly what’s going on!”

“And so you do,” Sherlock said flatly. “Once I’ve identified the culprit you will surely be among the first to know.”

“I still think he’s involved,” the elderly man accused outwardly. “Don’t trust the bloke.”

“Seriously?” John let out, getting to his feet beside Sherlock. “This man is one of the few people on board doing anything to try and catch the killer you’re all so scared of. Why make his job any harder?”

“Or alternatively: Grandpa’s right,” Hawaiian Shirt shot back. “Nobody ain’t seen no badge on yer cop buddy, but sayin’ he is one would be the perfect way to keep us off his trail. Make us trust ‘im, thinkin’ he’s tryin’ to catch the guy responsible when it’s really him we should be keepin’ an eye on…”

“I don’t have to deal with this.” Sherlock stood and retrieved his peacoat from where he’d left it hung over the bar, turning to leave.

“Oi!” Hawaiian Shirt grabbed a fistfull of T-shirt from Sherlock’s shoulder. The consulting detective remained in one place but didn’t make an effort to look at the guy. “Tell you what: we’ll let you keep doing what you’re doing for now, but soon as anything else goes wrong, my buddies and I are coming after you. Got it?”

Without answering, Sherlock jerked away and stomped out of the room. The ensemble grunted amongst each other a bit before redirecting themselves to a booth table for a round of drinks. John started after Sherlock but was held back by his wife, who wrapped a loving arm around his.

“Leave him,” Mary said softly. “This many people - especially ones like that - stress him out. He needs time to himself to think. And I, for one, need to get to bed. It’s getting late.”

“Oh. Uh. Of course.” John fumbled around in his trouser pockets for their room key, which he handed to Mary. She gave him The Look. He smiled sheepishly and tucked it away again. “Right. I’m coming too.” Arms still linked, the spouses went out the exit at the opposite end of the room and took a short flight of stairs down to the lower deck, which contained most of the bunkers. “You sure you don’t want to watch the telly at all?” John asked as the made their way down the fluorescently lit hall. “I was reading through the channel guide earlier, and there isn’t an extra charge for movie rentals here.”

Mary shook her head. “Thank you, sweetie, but… it’s been a long day, and at the rate things are going, this problem isn’t going to be over anytime soon. I think sleep is a good idea while we can still get it.”

John nodded understandingly. They stopped in front of their assigned room and unlocked its door with their keycard, letting it quietly shut behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

When Mary awoke the following morning she was still clinging tightly to John, who was already awake but seemingly hadn’t budged for her sake.

“G’morning,” the women greeted, smiling up at him groggily.

“And a good morning to you too,” John planted a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Shall we get dressed and see what Sherlock’s up to?”

Mary’s smile slowly faded at this. “John. I love you, and I love how much you care about Sherlock, but do keep in mind that this is our honeymoon.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” John apologized, sitting. “It’s just that… Well, I don’t see how we can possibly enjoy any substantial amount of our honeymoon together if we’re forced to spend it worried about being in an enclosed space with a cold-blooded killer. I want to have some ‘us time’ too, and quite a lot of it, but. Well. Priorities.” The man leaned over and kissed Mary once more, this time on the lips, before getting out of bed. “And right now Sherlock’s and ours overlap.”

Mary rolled onto her back with an exasperated sigh and stared up at the ceiling. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. What was I thinking? Silly me, always getting ahead of myself. Help Sherlock catch a killer, and then invite him into bed with us.”

“MARY!”

“Kidding,” Mary purred. “Wonder if he found anything helpful since we last saw him anyway.”

“If he did, it wasn’t anything worth texting over.”

“Or our killer got to him before he had the chance…”

John paused in the middle of fasting a belt around his trousers to shoot Mary a glare from over his shoulder. “I’ll have you know I didn’t marry you for your sense of humor,” he replied flatly.

“Oh, hush. I’m a riot and we both know it.”

Suddenly a familiar voice came from over the PA that neither John nor Mary was aware the room had: “Mr. and Mrs. Watson, please report to the bridge. I repeat, please report to the bridge. This is not a drill.”

The line cut out and John and Mary exchanged slightly amused looks. “Well. At least he had the courtesy to wait until we were both up.”

-x-

Once dressed, the couple made their way towards the Emerald Princess’ bridge. It was still fairly early and few passengers were up and about, but it was difficult to say if this was out of fear or because most of them were still sleeping. It was likely a combination of the two.

The door was half-opened this time, and so John pushed it the rest of the way and invited himself inside. The only two people in there beside himself and Mary were Sherlock, who had now adorned himself in the recognizable all-white cruise ship uniform, and the ship’s captain, who was hanging a foot or so off the ground from a rope attached to the ceiling.

“So I’m guessing this is why you wanted us,” John said, gesturing up at the body with a finger. Sherlock nodded.

Mary pressed a hand over her mouth. “Oh my. You don’t think he…?”

“He?” Sherlock shook his head. “No. Our chipper friend here would never take his own life. Like the others he was poisoned first, then put up on display. The rest of the deck personnel don’t appear to be in the vicinity, so I’m guessing our culprit pulled off a stunt to draw them all away first.”

“And… you’re absolutely sure about that?”

Sherlock took a lined notecard from his shirt pocket and handed into to Mary. Scribbled across it in all caps read CHANGE COURSE OR YOU’RE NEXT.

“Odd wording for a suicide note, don’t you think?”

“Mm. Suppose you’re right. What then?”

“We can start by going after this.” The detective held out a hand and Mary passed him back the card. “It’s not the best clue, but it’s a start. Handwriting, dominant hand, access to the materials used… You do still have that passenger list, don’t you, John?”

But John was unable to answer, because just as he’d started to, a handful cruise line workers joined them in the little room.

“We just got here,” John said a little too quickly.

“What the bloody hell is going on?!” bellowed a man they vaguely recalled being Darren.

Mary folded her arms and nodded her head towards the former captain. “I don’t know; I think the situation sort of speaks for itself.”

Darren shook his head in disbelief. “No. He… He wouldn’t do that. That’s entirely unlike him.” One of the men towards the back of the group looked as if he were about to throw up and slipped back out of the bridge as discreetly as he could in order to do so.

“No, he wouldn’t,” agreed Sherlock. “And he didn’t. As I was just informing Dr. Watson and his wife here, I was on my way to see Captain Milo Rogers not fifteen minutes ago, when I walked in on this rather chilling display. At first I admit that I, too, assumed the obvious. But then I found this protruding from a front pocket.” Sherlock now handed the notecard to Darren so that he could see for himself.

A second employee looked over Darren’s shoulder at the card with wide eyes. “Then… this is connected with the incident in the dining hall?”

“And Bingo was name-o.”

Darren took a deep breath and held the card lower. “Alright, look: I don’t like you and I especially don’t like the way you manage to keep popping up whenever something goes horribly wrong, but when you offered to help right things Milo brushed it off, and, well… I think we can all see where that got him. That being said, as second in command of this vessel, I look to you in terms of determining how to move on from this point.”

Sherlock smiled somewhat. “Finally. One of you with two brain cells to rub together.”

“Change course,” John decided for him. Several pairs of eyes snapped around to look at him. “Don’cha think...?”

“And give our killer exactly what he wants?” Sherlock questioned.

“This is beyond just solving a murder, Sherlock. We’re in the midst of a hostage situation. With the safety of everyone else onboard in mind, the most appropriate move would be to do as the killer says.”

“And risk letting him get away?”

“I’m not saying stop trying to solve the case altogether, just… make the killer think we’re cooperating.”

Mary nodded thoughtfully. “That might just keep anyone else from dying.”

“How far out are we?” Sherlock asked Darren.

“Several days out forwards and backwards,” another of the sailors answered. “We’re scheduled to arrive in Spain by the end of the week, and then circle back and stop in France two to three days after.”

Sherlock pursed his lips. “Alternatively, you can go East and make port in France ahead of schedule.”

The man shook his head. “We can’t do that. We don’t have clearance to dock off our route.”

“Make an exception. If you don’t, more people are going to die, and that might even include you!”

Darren gave a curt nod. “Set course for France. We make port at the first available harbor.”

“But sir--”

“I said CHANGE COURSE. And… one of you cut Captain Rogers down from there and take him to the morgue.”

“Thank you,” John breathed.

“You’d better be right about this.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person counting on it,” Sherlock muttered on his way out.

-x-

“Alright, no line for the continental breakfast!” John exclaimed joyfully, helping himself to a glass plate at the end of the buffet.

“The single upside to a boat full of passengers too scared to exit their sleeping quarters,” Mary breathed. “I hope they’ll be alright.”

Sherlock shrugged with disinterest. “They’ll be as content in there as anywhere, what with the free wifi and access to movie rentals through the telly. And, of course, I only mean ‘free’ in the sense that they already paid a fair amount for these services in their over $600 tickets.”

“I meant alright as in safe. But tell you what, as soon as all this has been dealt with accordingly, we should most definitely celebrate with a movie night. Rumor is it’s possible to order popcorn through room service.”

Sherlock was reluctant to fill a plate, as he rarely enjoyed eating in the midst of a case, but after a little pushing on Mary’s part helped himself to some eggs and sausage. He reached out to retrieve silverware and stopped suddenly, spotting a familiar crowd out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, could you take this to a table for me?” he asked John, handing over his breakfast. “I’ll hopefully be but a minute.”

“Um. Alright?”

The detective left them to find a seat while he approached the men from the night before, who he’d noticed had just been shooting him looks and talking amongst themselves. “Morning, gentlemen,” Sherlock greeted them unenthusiastically. “I hope you aren’t still pointing fingers in the wrong direction.”

“Well, well. If it isn’t the man we were just looking for,” sneered Hawaiian Shirt. He wasn’t wearing a Hawaiian tee any longer, but the name had already stuck in Sherlock’s mind and he had absolutely no intention of clearing up the issue.

“I take it you heard about the captain, then.”

The other man’s face fell. “Capt’n? No. We’d just picked up word that that fellow from the brawl earlier didn’t make it. What about the capt’n?”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to make a slightly confused face. “I don’t understand. That man’s injuries weren’t nearly severe enough to… You don’t suppose the killer snuck into the infirmary and finished the job, would he?”

“You tell me. But start by explain’ this capt’n business, if you’d be so kind.”

Sherlock bit at his lower lip before responding. “Well. Now I’d really rather not.”

“What? Is he dead now, too?” one of the other men asked.

Sherlock didn’t answer him.

“Well? Is he?” pressed Hawaiian Shirt.

Silence.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hawaiian Shirt frowned. “And is that why you’re dressed like that? In his uniform? Tryin’ to trick people into trusting you and thinkin’ you’re in change o’ things! It’s more convincing than yer detective act, I’ll give you that much. At least this time you actually look the part.”

“This didn’t belong to Captain Rogers,” Sherlock retorted.

The much older man squinted at Sherlock. “Oh? Where’d it come from then?”

“From… someone else.”

Hawaiian Shirt took a step forward as if examining Sherlock, who had half a mind to make his exit. And perhaps he should’ve then and there, because the next thing Hawaiian Shirt did was reach forward and pluck the notecard from Sherlock’s shirt pocket.

Sherlock made a face. “I. Um. That was… found with Captain Roger’s body. I obviously didn’t write it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I think we’ve seen about enough. Boys - what we talked about.”

-x-

“He sure is taking his time over there,” Mary murmured after swallowing a mouthful of pancake. “Especially for a bunch of guys he can’t stand. Think he’ll be alright?”

John shrugged and sipped at his coffee. “Why shouldn’t he be?”

“Well. For one, he just tried to make a run for it before the pack leader yanked him backwards by his shirt collar and oh look - now he’s being unceremoniously dragged from the room.”

John turned to Mary, unamused. “Okay, seriously. This dark humor has got to stop.”

Mary jumped from her seat and tugged at her husband’s arm. “I’m being completely serious, John. There they go!”

Now witnessing the event for himself, John threw his napkin down on the round table and the two of them darted after Sherlock and his captors. “Hey! Stop!” John kept shouting all the while. “Put him down! Security - someone - please! Please, put him down! He’s my friend! He hasn’t done anything!”

John and Mary chased the mob down two layers of the ship before some of the group continued on with their task while the others turned around to stop the married couple.

“He isn’t involved, please,” John begged, realizing that he couldn’t get past the remaining four of them.

“We’re unconvinced,” the elderly man shot back.

A second man nodded in agreement. “I know our methods seem a little… unorthodox, but we’re doing this for your woman’s safety, too. That man may have seemed like your friend, but he’s a liar. We even caught him with a note threatening to hurt more people! Can you explain that?”

“We can, actually,” Mary tried. “We were with him when he found it.”

“You were at the crime scene too? Did you get there before this man arrived?”

“Uh. No, not… not exactly…”

“So then how can you be so sure he wasn’t the one who did it, eh?”

“Because he’s the one trying to solve it!” John shouted angrily. “Why won’t any of you jackarses let him do his bloody job?!”

A shorter and more rounded man wrinkled his nose. “We’ll know for sure if he’s the one responsible soon enough, in any case. No one else dies? He’s our guy. If someone does… Well. Guess it won’t be him, which is sort of a favor on our part.”

“You’re making a mistake,” John hissed. “Now let me through. I have to speak with him.”

The older man shook his head. “No can do, kiddo. But if you’ve got a message in need of delivering, I’d be happy to do the honors.”

“You aren’t going to hurt him then?” Mary wanted to know.

“What? No, of course not. We wouldn’t dream of stooping to his level. We’re just keeping him in a confined area for the remainder of the voyage; let the police deal with him when we make port. It’s what any hero would do.”

“Oh, so you think abducting a man makes you a hero now?”

“Let me through,” John repeated through clenched teeth.

“What are you, deaf or something? I already said no.”

“And I said, let me through!” The doctor lunged at the men, hoping to rip in between the four of them. This was unsuccessful, however, as he was easily thrown backwards. Mary called out his name worriedly, but he ignored her and went forward again, this time throwing a punch at the older man as he went and knocking the guy to the ground.

“Oi! You can’t hit someone old enough to be your father!” the shorter bloke gasped. Now he came at John, knocking his head into the doctor’s stomach and temporarily winding him. While disoriented, all four of them took the opportunity to gang up on John, the old man having gotten up to join them already. One of the men who hadn’t spoken threw his fist at John, which hit him square in the face and knocked him against the ship’s metal wall. A second blow also landed close to his cheek and one of them went for his leg, knocking him to the floor.

“Stop!” Mary screeched, throwing herself in front of John. “We’ll leave, alright? Is that what you want?’

The foursome didn’t say anything. Mary knelt down and helped her husband to his feet. He was bleeding from a nasty looking cut on his upper lip, but that appeared to be the worst of his injuries, whereas the older man now had fresh blood streaming down from under his nose. Once propped up again John made to take another swing at no one of them in particular, but Mary pulled his arm down again. “And you stop it too, alright!” she ordered. “We’re not going to solve anything with this behavior.”

John made a sort of grunting noise and spat out a bit of blood on the ground between them. Mary spun her husband around and escorted him back up the stairs they’d come from. “He’s right about you making a mistake, though,” she called out from over her shoulder. “Sherlock isn’t the man you’re looking for, and if something happens to you because he isn’t around to stop it, I have little sympathy for your case.”

“You’ll thank us after you sleep soundly tonight,” one of them shouted after her.


	5. Chapter 5

"We should take you to the doctor."

"I am a doctor."

"Just to get some ice, if nothing else. Keep it from swelling."

"I don't need another doctor."

"For God's sakes, stop poking at it!" Mary pulled John's hand back and away from his lip. "We're taking you to the infirmary," she said sternly, "and that's that."

John gave her a worried look. "But Sherlock-"

"-will still be fine. They're not going to hurt him, remember?"

"Do you honestly believe that?"

Mary sighed. "Well. No, not particularly. But I really don't think they'll kill him."

John pulled over along the edge of the walkway next to the Princess' side railing and took a seat on a bench, burying his face in his hands. "That isn't as comforting as I think you meant it," he groaned.

Mary didn't sit down next to him. Rather, she stood in front of her husband, arms crossed. "I hesitate to say I want someone else to die and prove that he's innocent, but if that's what it takes, at least that's one good thing that would come of it."

Dropping his hands, John looked up at Mary sadly. "We got them to change course, remember? I thought that that meant no one else is going to have to die?"

"We'll find him and get him out of there, wherever there is," Mary promised after a while. "They were only trying to help, you know; same as we were. They just don't know what they're doing. Their efforts were… misguided."

"Oh, so that makes it okay for them to try and bash my head in?"

Mary frowned. "You did swing first, might I remind you. Now c'mon; ice pack, then rescue mission."

-x-

"This whole scenario is ridiculous!" John moaned. "We're never going to catch the guy before he has a chance to get away without Sherlock's help. And I'll admit I'm probably the last person to stick up for the late captain's behavior, but at least while he was still around people were following orders. Now no one really knows what they're supposed to be doing and everything's going to fall to shit in a very short matter of time!"

"See, you say that, and yet the massage you're getting conveys an entirely different message."

John's eyes snapped open and he shot his wife a dirty look from where she was lying across from him. The two of them were currently topless and lying on their stomachs, two cruise employees rubbing lotion into their backs with expert hands.

"I'm just saying," Mary shrugged.

"I'm stressed out," John defended himself. "This is necessary to maintaining my well-being."

"Would that be your professional opinion?"

"Absolutely."

Mary exhaled and let her eyes flutter shut again. "Well. Then by all means. Additionally, if you think a foot rub will help keep the both of us well enough to solve this case…"

John squinted. "I can't tell if you're being serious or making fun of me."

"That depends entirely on your response."

The doctor looked away and sighed. "When Sherlock finds out this is what we were doing instead of finding a way to help him out, we'd never hear the end of it..."

"He's clever, dear," Mary reminded her husband calmly, "not psychic."

Suddenly a loudspeaker came on from up ahead. "This is Captain Arthur Reynolds speaking," a voice addressed the ship.

"Oh so we apparently have a new captain," commented Mary, lifting her chin towards the noise. John shushed her.

"I understand that circumstances have been a bit… distressing, to say the least, over the course of the past few days, and I deeply regret any inconveniences you may have experienced during that time. That being said, there has been a slight change of management, but we are more than happy to announce at this time that the Emerald Princess will be continuing on course, as originally scheduled. I wish you all a lovely day. Captain Reynolds, out."

John jolted upright, completely disrupting the massage he was in the midst of getting. "They're what!" the man exclaimed loudly in disbelief.

Mary frowned. "Well, I doubt our serial killer will be all too thrilled at that news."

"We have to go talk some sense into this Reynolds bloke," John announced as he hopped off of the massage table. Mary moaned and reached for her bikini top as her husband then dug out his wallet and quickly tipped their massage therapists.

Mere seconds later the both of them were half dressed and hurrying back to the Princess' bridge. It was there that they were stopped by the man they recognized as Darren from earlier on their trip. This time he was standing out in front of the bridge's shut door, arms folded.

"We need to speak with the captain," Mary insisted.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, ma'am." Darren shook his head determinedly. "See, Reynolds thought you two might be dropping by right about how and he gave specific orders not to let you harass him."

"Harass?" John echoed. "This is a serious matter we have to discuss with him! He doesn't realize he's making a mistake and might very well get even more passengers killed because of it!"

Unfortunately Darren's opinion on the matter seemed to vastly differ. "That's not what I heard. Rumor is they got the guy. The guy being, of course, your friend - which doesn't look too good for either of you, now, does it?"

John threw an incredulous look at his wive and then back at Darren.

"You don't seriously believe that Sherlock is behind all of this as well, do you?" Mary asked. "Aside from us he's the only one on this ship trying to solved the damned case and stop it from going any further!"

"Sounds like exactly the sort of thing someone conspiring with him would say."

Mary huffed. "I don't believe this."

There was a strong urge boiling up inside of John to react to this latest obstacle also with his fists. But at the same time the man released that this would only escalate the situation, and so he forced him to repress said urge, however much Darren may've deserved a good beating at that point in time.

Instead he stormed back the way they'd come without a word in edgewise, Mary in tow.

-x-

For the remainder of the day the couple made a point of keeping tabs on the men who had grabbed Sherlock. As time passed they seemed to grow less and less concerned with guarding the lower levels, but still at least one remained at the post they'd created at all times.

On the upside, as far as they knew the real killer had refrained from pulling any more stunts for the time being. At the dinner buffet Mary ran off to use the lady's room for a time. John was only just beginning to get worried when she finally found her way back to his side. But this time she had a new piece of paper with her.

"Where did you get this?" John asked, taking the diagram from her. He could now see that it was a detailed illustration of the Emerald Princess' layout.

"Now see, if I told you that you might not think it quite as impressive," Mary replied. "In any case, I have reason to believe that Sherlock is being kept somewhere around this general region."

The woman stuck a finger over the map to show John. "Boiler rooms," John read the diagram's label aloud. "Okay, I suppose that makes sense, considering passengers are unlikely cross by there. But it doesn't tell us how we're supposed to get to him. I mean, look at this thing - only one entrance and then it dead ends. Not to mention that if Reynolds knows about Sherlock being held and thinks that was a viable solution…"

"Just forget about Reynolds for a minute. Look."

Now Mary dragged her finger across the map, showing a thin passageway lining the side of the boiler room and coming out at the far end of it. "Not just one entrance," she clarified. "See now?" Mary let her hand drop. She was looking quite proud of herself.

John took a sip from his water glass and then put both his hands back on the diagram to to bring it closer, squinting. "It starts up in some kind of break room," the man noted. "Employees only, probably."

"Then all we need to get you in undetected is a cruiseline uniform," concluded Mary. "Doubtless there are too many people working on this thing for them to all recognize one another immediately. Even if there were a code or keycard to get in, you could easily enough slip in at the same time as another employee and I'm sure no one would think a thing of it."

"And how do you propose I get my hands on a uniform? Wouldn't they be stored in the exact place we'd need them to get into?"

Mary shifted her eyes across the dining hall. "Actually, I think I might have a plan for that… but I'll warn you right now, you aren't going to like it."

John shook his head and let out a long breath. "At this point I'm about ready to try anything, to be quite honest."

The woman pursued her lips momentarily. "No, really, you aren't going to like this," she insisted. "It involves me attempting to seduce that waiter who's been winking at me the past few nights."

"What?!"

John choked and whirled around in his chair, although it was unclear if in that moment he was more surprised or infuriated.

-x-

John was less than pleased with Mary's latest scheme, to say the least, but he ultimately came around to it at Mary's word that she would break the act before allowing things to go too far.

And that was how he found himself rather unhappily hiding out in their room's restroom, all the while listening to his wife's obnoxiously staged giggle as she dragged another man into the room. John found himself hugging his arms tightly around himself and cringing at every sound he heard coming from the other room. Mary wasn't much of an actress, but god was she playing the part, and that only made John feel ten times worse about the whole business.

After a matter of minutes that felt as if they had in fact dragged on until perhaps the last syllable of recorded time, John received his signal - a heavy thrust against the bathroom door - and then squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he counted the agreed upon full sixty seconds.

Upon having finished John now opened his eyes once more and made to slowly turn the knob, pressing the door open as carefully and quietly as he could manage.

Ugh, he could hear the smacking of their lips now. That just about made it official - this was, by far, the worst cruise vacation he'd ever been on, and that was including the Tilly Briggs case he'd written up and then taken down from his blog all those years ago. Which is certainly saying something, because so far he hadn't been bound to a chair and thrown overboard.

John was immediately torn between wanting to look at what Mary was up to with the waiter and wanting to know absolutely nothing of it. He ultimately chose the latter of the two and kept his eyes strictly focused on the waiter's uniform which had been tossed carelessly in a bundle across the several feet between the bathroom and the bed. John took a deep breath and dropped to his knees to crawl forward and retrieve them.

Having gone through with his task successfully, John backed into the restroom once more and stood, pulling the door shut just as quietly as he had managed to do so before. John locked the door behind himself for good measure and wasted no time into changing into the waiter's uniform.

Now wearing the waiter's white shirt, black vest and pants, and patterned brown tie, John stashed quickly his previous outfit underneath the sink and used a credit card to break into the poorly locked adjacent room that happened to share the same restroom.

Much as he was expecting, but also to the man's disappointment, this room was currently being occupied by another elderly couple. On the upside of things, however, they were fast asleep and he had little trouble slipping out of their room.

John forced himself to not dwell on what Mary would be doing now back in their room and instead hurried down ship's brightly lit hallway, lest the waiter come out a moment too soon and put two and two together.

Things were much busier than he had anticipated back above deck. Rows of lamps lit up the otherwise dark area and he could see past the empty pool (not including the jacuzzi, which was bubbling up enthusiastically for five individuals) and into the glass-encased dining hall, which was practically filled to the brim with people enjoying a particularly late meal.

John was just on his way past the building when he was cut off by a real waitress exiting it.

"Oh! Thank goodness," the woman exhaled. "We're short staffed right now. Would you mind taking over water duty?"

"O-Oh, I-"

Without waiting for John to finish formulating his response, the waitress thrust a heavy jug filled to the brim with ice and tap water into his hands.

"Thank you so much," she breathed. "Just do the rounds as usual. Probably avoid Paul unless he asks for you specifically; the man's under a lot of pressure right now. There was a bit of a situation in the lower deck's cafe and coffee house, if you catch my meaning." The woman then let out out a high pitched chuckle and scurried back inside the dining hall.

Blinking dumbfoundedly, John awkwardly trailed after her, water jug held tightly out in front of himself. While she was still in the room John silently went to the nearest table and began tipping the jug's contents into a stranger's half empty glass.

"Excuse you!" a woman's voice gasped after just a few moments.

John pulled back, realizing that he had poured too much and the glass had begun to overflow.

"S-Sorry about that!" he stammered. Another quick glance up told him that the waitress whom he had had the encounter with had just rounded the corner into the kitchen area. "I'll get you a another serviette right away."

The owner of the glass started to say something else to John in a rather resentful tone, but he wasn't listening to a word of it. John instead set the jug down on their table where it only just barely fit without sitting on top of too many napkins and silverware sets and then slipped back out of the dining hall the way he'd come.

John wasn't interrupted again as he descended the stairwell towards the employee breakroom. Much to his surprise the door, which did appear to have a slot for a keycard beside it, was propped wide open. Knowing this beforehand would've certainly saved a lot of trouble and unwanted stress, but John decided to let this train of thought go as he entered the break room and then went right on through and out its back door.

This took him into a hall he hadn't seen before and he pulled out the map from a back pocket in order to locate the passageway that would connect to the boiler room. It wasn't all that long before John managed to find the right skip.

The boiler room itself was very much like one would expect. The entire area was rather compact, despite having a high ceiling, and dimly lit by a very dull orange glow protruding from the boilers themselves. Metal pipelines and miscellaneous machinery could be seen in every direction and the air felt thin and a great deal warmer. So much so that John could already feel himself beginning to sweat, despite the icy slight breeze that he had experienced up above deck.

John didn't actually see anyone else in the vicinity, which made his task easier in many regards. John circled the room twice before he actually noticed the closet-like space stuck between two large metal containers.

John was at first reluctant to touch the doorknob, as a part of him feared that it would be too hot to handle without hurting himself, but he found that this wasn't the case. He jiggled at the knob but the closet door itself wouldn't budge.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly. "Sherlock? Are you in there?" And then a little louder: "Sherlock?"


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock was beginning to think that perhaps his attempt to impose upon John and Mary's honeymoon wasn't worth all the fuss after all. Not now that he had spent just over three hundred pounds to sit both helplessly and unable to help in a metal box while all the interesting stuff raged on around him.

While the near utter darkness, save a thin orange line that ran along the bottom of the latched door, was oddly relaxing, little else about the experience was. The air was warm and stuffy. It wasn’t entirely unbearable at first, but after the first hour or so Sherlock gave in and started to peel off a couple layers. Even breathing became increasingly uncomfortable.

The combination of warm air and a consistent low hum that echoed throughout the boiler room made Sherlock drowsy, but he managed to stay awake for what felt like hours longer.

Truthfully he had lost all sense of time rather quickly. Finally Sherlock was just allowing himself to doze off when he thought he heard something on the other side of the door.

The noise was drowned out by the humming, however, and Sherlock would've disregarded it altogether had whoever was on the opposite side rapped lightly against the metal.

Sherlock lifted his head now. The detective scrambled to his feet and hit the palm of his hand against his side of the door.

"Hello? Is someone there?" he asked loudly.

Someone was, but their words were muffled and Sherlock couldn't make out who it was or what they were saying.

Sherlock dropped against the ground so that his eyes lined up with the crack beneath the door as much as possible. He banged his hand against the door once more, now lower to try and get the other person to do the same.

"Sherlock?"

This time Sherlock recognized John's voice.

"Yes! John! I'm in here!" Sherlock called back.

-x-

Their conversation didn't continue for much longer, however. John barely got two words out to his friend before two of the men who had grabbed Sherlock in the first place started around the corner. They were talking loudly and laughing.

John scrambled to his feet and tried to duck behind one of the boilers before they spotted him. This move may've been more successful has he not banged into a jutting out metal piece with his upper thigh on his way past. John let out a yelp upon impact and immediate cupped a hand over his own mouth.

"Hey, did you hear that?"

Just moments later the both of came out from each side of the boiler, cutting John off if he were to try and run.

"Oh hey... guys," John squeaked. "Fancy running into you lot again."

The first of the men was the older one that John had hit earlier. "How did you get in here without us seeing?" he demanded.

"And what's with the outfit?" the second asked.

John swallowed. "That's, um... kind of a long story. Actually. I wouldn't want to bore you with the details."

"Well never mind that then," huffed the older man. "Fact of the matter is we told you to stay out of this, and yet here you are. And now we hafta decide what's to be done about it."

"You could perhaps just let me off with a warning?" John offered hopefully.

The other men exchanged glances.

"What do you think?" the second asked.

"Well, I'm not opposed to that. How hot do you suppose these things are?" He gestured to the boiler beside them.

The older man's companion shrugged. "I dunno. I wouldn't want to get too close to it." He glanced from the metal structure to the older man and then his eyes lit up, following.

John frowned. "That's not what I meant by a warning."

"Then perhaps you should've specified."

The men simultaneously grabbed hold of John's shoulders. "H-Hey! Knock it off!" he spat, pulling against the both of them as they struggled to bring John close enough to the boiler to force him to touch it somehow.

It was very close to an even match even when two to one, but not close enough. John dug his heels into the ground as he inches dangerously close to the heated metal.

Luckily someone else interrupted them at that moment - the guy who always wore Hawaiian shirts.

"There's been another one," he called out from the entrance to the room. "You boys might wanna come..." Hawaiian Shirt paused to come closer, now fully seeing what he'd just walked in on.

"The hell’s goin' on over here?"

"Caught this guy trying to break out his friend," the older man replied.

“And so you thought you’d… what? Give ‘im a third degree burn?”

The elderly man looked over to his buddy for back up but apparently received. He swallowed. “Well…”

Hawaiian Shirt sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Christ, Jeff. I thought was s’posed to be the good guys here!”

Looking sheepish, the man who was more than likely Jeff and his companion took their hands off of John, who jerked away further with a quick pull of his shoulder.

“In any case,” Hawaiian Shirt went on, “as I was saying, there’s been another one. Death, that is two. Two of ‘em actually - young couple, mid-twenties… Look, all’s I’m saying is things are gettin’ hectic up there and you might want to see for yerselves so that we can decide what’s ta’ be done about it.”

“See?” John said, looking round at all three of the other faces. “I told you Sherlock didn’t have anything to do with it!”

“Maybe, maybe not. You two might be in on it together for all we know,” Jeff threw back. “Could be why you were so set on getting your supposed ‘P.I.’ back.”

John wrinkles his nose. “Don’t be ridiculous. How was I supposed to have killed someone while I was busy figuring out how to get into here?”

“No, actually Jeff’s got a point,” Hawaiian Shirt nodded thoughtfully. “If you was involved, poisoning someone just before you came here may’ve been a poor attempt to throw off our suspicions.”

“So like. Throw him in with the other one, then?”

Hawaiian Shirt shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”

“H-Hang on--” John tried, but Hawaiian Shirt was already unlocking the metal door that had been separating them from Sherlock. Jeff and the third guy grabbed John once more and with Hawaiian Shirt’s help they shoved him unceremoniously into the space.

Sherlock was contemplating making a run for it if and when this was to happen. The consulting detective’s plan fell short, however, when he was practically blinded as soon as the door swung open and the dull orange glow came flooding into his closet. Sherlock blinked a couple times as started to scramble to his feet, but then John came stumbling forward and tripped over him.

Sherlock slipped backwards again and hit the ground with a thud as John’s weight crushed his stomach and an elbow jabbed uncomfortably into his chest. The door shut again and the room was once more encased in darkness. Wheezing, Sherlock pulled his leg up and kicked John’s back, causing his friend to roll off and immediately hit the wall, as it was a particularly tight space they were in.

“I do not recall inviting you to this party.” Sherlock doubled over and took a couple deep breaths until he felt like he could breathe normally again. Well - as normally as one could with the air being the way it was in there.

“I was trying to rescue you,” John huffed indignantly.

Sherlock snorted in response. “Well that was clearly a mistake.”

“A mistake?” echoed John. “You know, most people would say ‘thank you’.”

“And perhaps if you’d done a more successful job I would’ve. But you’re of no use to me in here.”

John was quiet for a moment. “Unbelievable,” he muttered after a while half to himself. “Utterly unbelievable.” The both of them sat in darkness and silence for some time then, until John spoke up again, commenting “So I don’t suppose this makes us both Daphne, now, does it?”

Sherlock made a confused face that John obviously couldn’t see in the dark.

“Pardon?”

“You know, Daphne Blake. From Scooby Doo. The pretty on who was always getting herself captured.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “Well. I hardly think you were abducted based off of your good looks.”

“Wh--And you were?” John practically choked.

“Oh most definitely.”

A couple beats of more silence followed before the both of them erupted into a fit of soft chuckling. In another minute or so this died away again and they each in turn let out a dramatic exhale.

“So what now?” John asked. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Sherlock looked up into the blackness thoughtfully. “Hm. To be honest, I’ve had quite a lot of time to myself with which to solely dedicate to thinking, and... Well, why don’t you tell me, John. How exactly does one catch a serial murderer from the inside of a sealed metal prison?”

“I… I don’t know,” the other man admitted with a shrug.

“Come now. I think you do.”

“Do I really?”

Beat.

“The obvious answer is, of course, that you simply don’t. Unless…” Sherlock prodded John’s forearm with his fingertips so that he knew where the detective’s hand was. “Mobile,” he demanded.

“Oh! Um… right.” John leaned forward a bit and felt around his back pockets for his mobile. It was then that he recalled they weren’t technically speaking his trouser pockets at all. “Uh.”

“John…” Sherlock warned.

“I don’t have it,” John winced. “I… I must’ve left it back in mine and Mary’s room. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and hit the back of his head against the wall behind himself.

“I’m sorry,” John repeated, more forcefully this time.

As Sherlock answered him his words were slow and dramatic, as if he were specifically emphasizing each and every syllable for the full humiliation spectrum. “John,” he began, “you are, perhaps, the least prepared accomplice I could’ve possible hoped for.”

“...I said I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you did. Goodnight.”

John stiffened. “Good… Goodnight?!” he repeated in astonishment. “You are seriously going to bed? Now?”

Sherlock’s only response was a weary grunt between the sounds of him shifting positions on the warm metal floor. John took a couple deep breaths and was only just beginning to feel the extra effort his lungs were making to breathe properly in there. He let his eyes shut and leaned his head back against the wall, wondering how Mary was faring and silently praying that she wouldn’t get caught at the wrong end of this whole mess.


	7. Chapter 7

Time passed and the longer John took to return with Sherlock, the more Mary began to wonder if everything went according to plan. The woman had booted that creepy waiter guy out of her room as soon as she was sure it was safe to do so, and he was less than pleased to find his clothes missing, to say the least.

After pacing around feeling useless again for a time she had eventually decided to call John. A buzzing sound came from the bathroom, and Mary unhappily went to investigate and found his mobile sitting on the countertop.

Mary went back into the bedroom and threw herself down on the bed dramatically. She lay there perfectly still for a couple of moments, debating whether if it was worth it to try and go and check on John, but then instead rolled over and took out her mobile again. It was late - already past midnight - but the woman was in no mood to go to bed just yet. Mary stared at the screen and then pulled up the Facebook app and began to search for Stevie Lamb.

-x-

Mary was woken up early by her mobile going off on the nightstand beside her. Mary then very nearly ignored it and went right on back to sleep when it occurred to her that John hadn’t come back that night. She hurriedly rolled over and grabbed the phone with one hand whilst wiping her eye with the back of another.

“Hello?”

It wasn’t John. Rather, the caller worked for Chilton Foundation School, a place Mary had left a message to the night before. About ten minutes into the call the woman leaned over and grabbed a notepad and pen that had been sitting on the nightstand as well. Mary quickly jotted down the name Terry Hunt, thanked the receptionist on the other line, and then hung up.

Next Mary scooted to the edge of the bed and pulled open the nightstand drawer. In it was the copy of Pride and Prejudice as well as the passenger register than John had procured earlier. Mary removed the latter and flipped through the alphabetically ordered pages until she located the name she’d written wedged between an Ava Halbert and Jennifer Huntington. Mary circled Terry Hunt several times with the pen and then relocated all of these items to the top of the dresser.

Taking out her mobile one more time, Mary now made a search for Terry’s Facebook profile. The page had only just finished loading when Mary immediately threw a hand over her mouth and then scrambled to get dressed.

-x-

Mary found the guys responsible for Sherlock and John’s current predicament huddled around a table and enjoying the continental breakfast while laughing about something or another. The woman stormed in from the glass doorway, not slowing her pace until she had stopped directly across the table from the guy wearing the Hawaiian shirts.

Well. To be perfectly honest he wasn’t actually in a Hawaiian shirt today, but that didn’t make him any more difficult to pick out of a crowd.

“I need to speak with you,” demanded Mary as she slammed her hands down over the tabletop. “Privately.”

“But see, I don’t have anything to say to you,” Hawaiian Shirt hummed, refusing to look up from his meal.

“Actually, maybe that would be a good idea,” another of the guys offered. “I mean. Considering…”

Hawaiian Shirt picked up a strip of bacon with his fork and stared at it contemplatively for a couple of tense seconds. “Fine,” he ultimately sighed. Hawaiian Shirt set the thing down again without eating it and pulled out his chair.

He and Mary took their discussion just outside the dining hall, where Mary wasted no time in demanding to be told where her husband and Sherlock were.

“Don’t worry about it,” the other man retorted.

"Cut the bullcrap," hissed Mary. "Where are John and Sherlock?"

"Where they won't be able to hurt anyone else," Hawaiian Shirt grunted back, turning his back to the woman.

"Wh... Sherlock and John haven't hurt anyone!" Mary yelled. She was just short of fuming now. "That's a lie and you know it!" But the man was ignoring her now and started back inside. "I know who you are and what you did, Terry Hunt!"

Hawaiian Shirt had just touched his hand to the glass doors when he stopped in his tracks and whirled around, grimacing.

"That's right," Mary went on, glad to have his attention again. "Sherlock didn't kill those passengers because you did!"

The man remained rooted firmly in place now. “That’s a pretty serious accusation,” he said.

“I should think so. It’s a pretty serious crime.”

“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?” Terry squinted. He looked unsure if he was going to keep walking away or come closer to Mary again.

“Because,” Mary started to explain, “while you were off getting your mates all riled up and thinking my husband and his best friend were involved, I did my homework.”

“Homework?”

“Stevie Lamb - the woman you murdered - didn’t just work at a daycare. She held a high ranking administrative position at one of the most elite and most competitive foundation schools in Britain - a school that you and your wife were willing to pay good money to get little Clayton Hunt into. Isn’t that right?”

Terry took a cautious step towards Mary again and lifted his chin. “So what if she worked at Chilton? How was I s’posed to know, let alone care enough to do anything to ‘er?”

Mary’s nostrils flared. “Don’t lie to me, Terry. I spoke on the phone with some of Stevie’s coworkers. They said after she rejected your son’s application to Chilton that you started trying to bribe her and some other faculty members. When your price wasn’t high enough or Chilton simply refused to stoop to that level, you reportedly left a series of threatening voicemails at Stevie’s office as well as her home address. Any of this sounding familiar?”

Terry suddenly marched forward the rest of the way, and now Mary took an instinctive step back but forced herself to remain in place and continue to try and look taller than she actually was.

“Okay, okay!” he spat. “The bitch had it coming, ‘aight? That what you wanted ta’ hear?” He folded his arms and frowned down at Mary. “It’s not that Chilton refused to take bribes - I can definitely tell ya that much. I sent ‘em the money, Stevie an’ the rest of her team, an’ the bitches kept it. For almost a year she assures me that Clay has a spot in the school. Then, next thing I know, it’s down to a month before the start of the year and suddenly Stevie sends me an email sayin’ something went wrong in the system and ‘is spot was given away, nothin’ she ‘kin do about it. BULLSHIT!”

Mary jumped a little as Terry spat the word in her face.

“Do you know how hard it can be to get your child into a good foundation school on such short notice?”

Mary shook her head.

“Well, it can be impossible. An’ my Clay deserved better than that. I tried to be civil about it,” the man went on angrily. “Ya gotta believe I tried. Couldn’t take tha’ matter to court, ‘cause of course if knew about the bribery things were sure ta’ go south real fast. Anyway. Said all the right things, even offered up to double the tuition - which is really sayin’ something, I’ll tell ya. That place costs a fortune, as if it weren’t already hard enough ta’ get in. But Stevie wasn’t have in. She fucked me over an’ she knew it. That’s when I started leavin’ the messages. I didn’t actually plan on doin’ anything about it first… But that’s when coppers started showing up at my place, anonymous tip or something. Anonymous my arse. They didn’t find nothin’, of course - nothin’ to find, but that was the last straw.”

“So Stevie pissed you off, then when you found out her half brother died and she was using the money to treat herself to a pleasure cruise, you took the opportunity to leave your wife and son at home for a week while you dished out your revenge,” Mary finished for him.

Terry swallowed hard. “Somethin’ like that.” He dropped his voice a notch now and leaned in closer. “It was s’posed to be real clean. Make it look like an accident. I did my research beforehand, got my hands on some hemlock… I thought with Stevie gone, maybe I could apply to Chilton again next year with less of a hassle. Less bullshittery.”

“It was s’posed to be clean;” he repeated, “Stevie’d start to feel sick, lean a little too far over the railing. If it didn’t look like she was actually gonna make it didn’t matter. Didn’t think anyone would care enough to call foul play. But your fellows certainly did.”

“But… I don’t get it. Why did you killed all those other people, then? Everyone in the dining hall that evening, Captain Rogers? Was it to throw us off?”

Terry made a face. “Wh… I didn’t kill anybody else!” he insisted. “Why should I? I didn’t know any of them. You actually thought I was harrassin’ yer boys just to get ‘em off my own back?”

Mary blinked a couple times, surprised. “I’m sorry, you... you only killed Stevie?”

“Tha’s what I said.”

“But then… wh-who…?”

“Well that’s the big question, isn’t it!” Terry exclaimed and threw his arms out to the side.

Mary huffed. “You honestly expect me to believe that someone else just happened to be going around poisoning people on the same exact cruise mere hours after you murdered someone in a similar manner?”

Terry rubbed at his arm and looked away guiltily. “Well… I reckon it’s prob’ly my hemlock whoever it was was usin’. It uh… I sort of misplaced it not all that long after. At least I thought I’d put the stuff back in my luggage, but… Well. Do you reckon the other killer might’ve stolen it right from my room?”

“I don’t know. But… I think it’s safe to assume you’re going to need Sherlock’s help if you want any more answers.”

“Hm. You really think that bloke’s the real deal, eh?”

“Just a bit. But don’t let him hear you saying that. The poor man’s ego doesn’t need any more inflation.”

-x-

The metal door was pried open once more and orange light came flooding in. Sherlock and John let out a stream of low moans as they held their arms up over their face, shielding their eyes from the sudden change in lighting.

"Morning, boys," came Mary's enthusiastic voice.

In the seconds that followed Sherlock and John fought to get to their feet from where they’d previously been flopped haphazardly on top of one another in the cramped space. Before any of them had a chance to get a word in edgewise Sherlock was already pushing past Mary and Terry and making a beeline up the stairwell. The others exchanged glances and wordlessly chased after the detective.

 

They found Sherlock again at the top deck leaning over the railing and taking deep breaths.

“Are… you okay?” Mary asked worriedly.

“No,” Sherlock wheezed, “but… I will be…” He inhaled sharply and spun around to face the others, back against the side of the ship now. “What changed?” Sherlock asked, his voice hoarse.

“Well for starters, I decided you probably didn’t commit those murders,” Terry said matter-of-factly.

John wasn’t sounding in all that much better shape. “Decided?” he parrotted breathlessly.

“Additionally I solved one of the cases for you,” Mary said. “So you’re welcome for that.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “One of?” The man tried to hold back a cough immediately following his words, and trying to do so only made it worse and he choked for a moment.

Mary’s eyes widened. “Seriously, are you alright?”

Sherlock nodded vigorously. “Continue. Please.”

“Well… Terry here confessed to poisoning Stevie, but he insists that he had nothing to do with the other murders, and to prove it wants to help find whoever stole the hemlock off of him.”

“Wh…” Sherlock stared at Terry now, apparently at a loss for words. “Wh… D… Um.. A-And you believe him?” he asked, looking back to Mary again.

The woman shrugged. “For now. Yes.” She shifted her weight slightly. “So what do you think?”

Sherlock held up his hand and then slapped it back down to his side again. “Psh… Well. You saw how hostile and riled up everyone got the first time around. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have as many people on our side as possible.”

"So... let me just make sure I'm following along," John because cautiously. "Terry killed Stevie."

"Yes."

"But not all the other victims?"

"Assumedly, no."

"...Okay. But he did murder a woman in cold blood. And everyone's... okay... with this?" John looked from Sherlock to Mary to Terry, all of whom seemed to be showing no signs of sharing the uncomfortableness that he was feeling in that moment.

“We should split up again,” Sherlock decided, ignoring John’s qualms altogether. He was starting to look considerably more composed now that he’d gotten out of that boiler room for a couple minutes. “Cover more ground. I’ll take another trip to the morgue, see if I missed anything the first time around. Mary, John - see if you can locate the hemlock itself. Try around the kitchen or see if you can figure out who had access to Hunt’s room.”

“What about me?” Terry asked expectantly.

Sherlock hesitated. “You can stick with me, I suppose,” he reluctantly decided. “But in no way does this mean I’ve forgiven you - particularly not in light of your previous actions.”

Terry swallowed. “Of course. And hey, uh… if we run into my mates, do you mind not, y’know, mentionin’ anything ‘bout Stevie to ‘em? They kind of look up to me and… Well, I wouldn’t want recent events to change that.”

“Perhaps you ought to have considered that before you before you poisoned a woman and inadvertently set off such a gruesome chain reaction.”

Terry smiled in a guilty sort of way, but also the sort of way that gave off the impression that this was all some kind of big joke to him and gave Sherlock a sickening feeling. Ordinarily Sherlock got off on all the excitement and unexpected turns, but at this point the consulting detective just about couldn’t wait to wrap up the case and get the hell off that godforsaken boat.


	8. Chapter 8

"Haven't we been through this already?" a middle-aged and dark-skinned woman wearing a white coat asked as she lead Sherlock and Terry down one of the Princess' many corridors. As they reached one of the furthest doors she stopped and pulled out a set of keys and then pushed her way inside the room, not bothering to hold the door open for Sherlock and Terry, who grabbed the door and followed after her just before it had shut in front of them.

"Yes," Sherlock answered, "but I don't know if you've noticed, passengers are still dropping like flies. So perhaps we overlooked something."

They were in the cruise ship's morgue now. In the center of the room was a metal slab with a white sheet draped over the form of two human figures.

"If I wanted to be a mortician, I'd be working in a morgue, not in the medical department on a pleasure cruise. I'm definitely not getting paid for this kind of thing," the lady sighed.

"Except in our deepest appreciation, Dr. Moore."

"Yeah, yeah. You're already here. No need for further arse-kissing. Nice getup, by the way. Did you get hired by the cruise line since we last met?" She was, of course, referring to the white uniform that Sherlock still had on. The detective smiled back but didn't answer her.

The woman, Dr. Moore, stopped in front of the bodies and threw back the sheet to reveal the corpses of a couple young adults, possibly still teenagers - a heavyset girl with strawberry blonde hair and a much lankier Asian boy. She then reached over to a nearby countertop and pulled a clipboard off of it. "Judy Grove and Sam Shi," she read off the board. "University students. Sorry - graduates, as of late. Shame they didn't get very far with those degrees."

"And they were poisoned?" inquired Sherlock. "Hemlock, like the others?"

"Ehhh… Sort of?"

Sherlock wrinkled his brows at met Dr. Moore's eyes.

"They died of smoking the bloody stuff," the doctor explained. "Dumb kids. I don't know where they got it from, but…" Dr. Moore set the clipboard down on the countertop once more and took out her keys to unlock an overhanging cupboard. She pulled a small plastic bag from which contained ground bits of a plant and showed it to the boys.

The consulting detective reached out with an expectant hand but Dr. Moore pulled the bag closer to herself rather than giving it to him. "As if I'd just hand it over to you!" she huffed. "Suppose one of you was the killer come to get it back?"

"Then I wouldn't waste my time asking." Sherlock left his palm extended and smiled back at Dr. Moore innocently, even going the extra mile on eyelash batting. "Please. I'll give it right back in just a moment."

With an unhappy grunt the woman reluctantly set the bag down into Sherlock's hand and he immediately held it much closer to his face and turned it around, digging his thumb and forefinger into the stuff through the layers of plastic. "Concium maculatum…" he mumbled to himself.

"Eh?"

"Look familiar?" he finally asked, showing the bag to Terry, who made a face.

"I, uh…"

"Well?" Sherlock pressed.

"I don't know, it…"

"Terry-"

"Maybe! I mean… Yeah. Yeah. Probably. But there used ta be more 'n that."

"Yes, I'd expect so," Sherlock mumbled. The detective returned the hemlock back to Dr. Moore, as promised. "Might I have a look at Captain Rogers' body?"

Dr. Moore frowned. "I'm not sure that's possible."

"Not possible? He's still here, isn't he? Considering we're currently packed into an enclosed space over a body of water I'd assume so."

"Look, I'm breaking a lot of rules just letting you in here, alright?" sighed Dr. Moore. "I don't… Oh, what the heck. Follow me." Dr. Moore threw the hemlock bag into the cupboard and locked it once more before taking her keys to another set of doors and opening those. This lead to a small room where bodies were being stored in refrigerated boxes that lined the wall.

Sherlock, Terry, and Dr. Moore just barely all fit into the tight space, and to create more room Terry ended up staying in the doorway, keeping the door propped open. Dr. Moore scanned an index finger across the paper labels marking each of the boxes. "Surprised you still have room," Sherlock commented.

"Just barely. After I get those two in only one more person is allowed to die."

"I'll be sure to relay that information to the killer," Sherlock mused.

"Here we go, Milo Rogers," Dr. Moore announced as she pried open one of the coolers. In the drawer lay the body of the Emerald Princess' previous captain, still wearing his uniform but now considerably paler. Sherlock came forward to inspect the body. "What are you looking for anyway?" inquired Dr. Moore.

"Cause of death."

Dr. Moore cocked her head to the side slightly. "Don't… we already know that? Looks like suicide, but the guys who brought him in said he was poisoned like the others."

"And so I was originally led to believe. But now…" Sherlock squinted and hunched over to get a closer look at Captain Rogers' neck region. The man let out a thoughtful hum and straightened again. "As I suspected," he muttered, addressing Dr. Moore and Terry.

"What is it?" asked Terry stupidly.

"The late Captain Rogers here wasn't poisoned like the others. Rather, he was strangled."

"By the rope after all?"

"No - by someone else's hands." Sherlock pointed an index finger around two sets of very faint bruises hidden between the purple marking the noose had left. "Thumbprints. Cuts, even, where the nails dug in."

Terry wrinkled his nose. "Sound unpleasant. So, what's this mean for finding our killer?"

"Killers," corrected Sherlock. "Plural."

"...well. Yes. But aside from-"

"Yes, aside from. Just how many murderers are we dealing with exactly? It's a rather crucial question, I'm afraid."

"Ya mean… the old capt'n was killed by someone other than whoever poisoned all those folks at dinner?" Terry frowned.

Dr. Moore shook her head in disbelief. "Aw, bloody hell… As if one crazed murderer weren't enough to worry about!"

"It's Cludo, more or less," Sherlock started to explain. "Captain Milo Rogers, on the bridge, strangulation." He thrust an arm out, pointing towards the couple on the slab. "Judy Grove and Sam Shi and the others, in the dining hall, with the hemlock. Stevie Lamb, on the pool deck, with the-"

"Yes, okay, we get it," Terry interrupted awkwardly. "The killer to killed ratio is… complicated."

Sherlock nodded. "...and that man after the brawl above deck - I hardly think our hemlock hitman would've wasted his time on that one," he qiuckly finished his list. "But yes. Kill to killed ratio. One of the most complicated I've seen yet, and that's including a case in which two entirely separate assassination attempts were made on a dinner party host."

Terry made a face. "How did that work?"

"Well, it certainly made the 'who dunnit' difficult to pinpoint. Two possible causes of death, two possible culprits who both believed to be the guilty party, and I started with almost nothing to go off of."

"Hm. Now that does sound a bit like Cludo."

"I don't know, just sounds like overkill to me," huffed Dr. Moore as she folded her arms.

Sherlock smirked a little at this remark but didn't acknowledge it verbally.

-x-

Obviously Mary and John hadn't been been successful in sniffing out the hemlock, as it was currently with Dr. Moore. The married couple had, however, found the note the killer left with Captain Rogers while searching through the dining hall trash bins (much to the surprise and disgust of several of the other guests who had previously been enjoying their lunches).

"Suppose we could ID the handwriting?" John wondered aloud.

Mary shrugged. "And how do you propose we go about doing that? Ask each and every passenger and crew member to jot down their names for us?"

"It's a long shot, I suppose, but… Hang on." John straightened. "Their ID badges!"

"Sorry?"

"The staff ID badges," the doctor started to explain. "If it's a crew member, all we'd need to do is circle around looking at their badges. See" - John pointed to a waitress as she passed by - "they've each already written their own names out."

Mary nodded slowly. "That's... better, at least. Still would take a while, but it's a start, anyway. And I don't think we were getting any closer to finding the poison like this."

"Let's start in the bridge," John decided, holding up the note between two fingers. I find it hard to believe that that area was ever left completely unattended long enough for the killer to sneak in, murder the captain, set up his body to look like a suicide and then get out again unseen."

And it was a good thing John and Mary did get to the bridge just when they did. They found the door swung open - inside two men, Captain Reynolds and Darren, were in the middle of an all-out brawl. Mary and John exchanged glances before jumping into the fray and attempting to pull the two apart.

Darren had hoisted a rolling chair into the air and brought it down upon Reynolds, who was knocked to the floor along with the blow. "Oi!" John barked, grabbing the chair by its legs and attempting to wrestle it away from Darren. "Knock it off!"

Mary wrapped her arms around Darren from behind and helped yank him away from the weapon, which John threw down a foot or so away while kicking the man square in his chest at the same time. Darren tripped backwards and he and Mary went toppling down as well.

"What the bloody hell is going on in here?" John demanded. He was now the only one left standing and looked from Captain Reynolds, who was sitting upright and bleeding from a cut around his forehead, to Darren, who had rolled off of Mary and was sprawled out on the white metal floor wheezing.


End file.
